


Try a Little Tenderness

by One-EyedBossman (desert000rose)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexuality, Consent, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Not Beta Read, Nygmobblepot Week 2018, Office Humor, Platonic Cuddling, ace!oswald, minor mentions of other characters - Freeform, normal jobs, nygmobblepotweek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-05 00:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14032191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desert000rose/pseuds/One-EyedBossman
Summary: It's not the strangest birthday Oswald Cobblepot has ever had, but Ed Nygma from Snuggle Buddies LLC certainly takes the cake for most unusual present ever...For Nygmobblepot Week Day 5 - Cuddling





	Try a Little Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> If the summary wasn't enough, here's your additional warning: this is a very silly and self indulgent little fic.

Despite the rather colorful assortment of bottles sitting on his kitchen counter and the alcohol inside them that’s been flowing freely during the afternoon, Oswald Cobblepot finds himself closer to sobriety on his thirty-fourth birthday than he has been on this day for three years now. It’s the first real birthday _party_ he’s ever had, with only intimate family celebrations held on the day before that, and then years after taking off work and drinking himself into a stupor to forget the lack of those celebrations.

 

In all honesty, this year shouldn’t be any different. If not for a particularly mischief-prone set of underlings (coworkers, technically), he would be curled up in bed with the bottle of whiskey that was full this morning and now sits mostly empty on his counter after having disappeared over the course of an afternoon and livened the party considerably. In fact, he’s planned to do just that, until that morning when an unexpected call from the office had arrived with a demand that he come in, regardless of having meticulously scheduled a rare use of his paid personal leave weeks in advance to ensure he didn’t have to.

 

Normally, Oswald would have directed the source of the interruption to kindly go jump in a lake, if not phrased a little more severely than that, before returning to his scheduled annual meltdown. But on the phone, his office administrative assistant had sounded near meltdown herself, and he couldn’t in good conscience leave someone like Ivy to clean up the apparent crisis caused by incompetents in the purchasing department all on her own.

 

She’d called early enough in the morning to catch him before he’d gotten a bottle open. And the only thing nearly as cathartic than continuing the steady destruction of his liver was being able to shout at utter failures who thoroughly deserved to be shouted at, preferably until his voice couldn’t take any more without cracking. So, he’d crawled out of his blanket nest and dressed before driving to the office, scheduled birthday day off regardless.

 

Oswald had been rather proud of himself on this occasion, as the shouting had seemed more effective than usual. Terrified-looking interns had scattered out of his way as he stalked to his office. And the rest of his department seemed to for once have sense to duck their heads and get to work without extraneous gossip, chatter, or interruptions.  He’d quickly gotten utterly wrapped up in trying to figure out just what had gone wrong and how, tending the matter through phone, email, and simply demanding responsible parties come to his office for a lecture rather than hunting them down one by one. Both to ensure they knew just how badly they had screwed up and to avoid the office at large himself.

 

Precautions were necessary, after all, just in case Barbara from HR had finally allowed herself to be bribed or threatened into betraying his birthday despite his own thorough bribing and threatening to ensure no one ever got the exact date. Or in case someone in the office betting pool had by freak chance actually guessed right.

 

Through either method, there was the small possibility that celebrations in some form could exist for him in the communal kitchen. And Oswald had wanted nothing to do with them. The only thing worse than his actual heartache on his birthday would be the single package of pity-cupcakes sitting on the ‘free food’ table at the front of the office kitchen, along with a vague card containing even more vaguely written signatures from the department. It was the standard treatment for anyone who didn’t indicate what their alternative preferences were, or who didn’t mention their birthday early enough for the office’s social butterflies to plan a proper celebration for them.

 

 Oswald himself had absolutely refused to be a recipient of either. It was a matter of dignity, just as much as wanting to avoid drawing any attention to the day.

 

Thus, he’d holed up in his office, or rather, more aggressively so than usual, and made the purchasing clerks come scurrying to him one at a time, rather than crossing into the next office block and sorting out the matter all in one furious storm. The matter…which had seemed to become more convoluted and nonsensical with each person he demanded additional or clarifying details from. Undoubtedly, Tetch had been somehow at fault. Oswald had never understood how the man had ended up head of a whole department, even one as relatively straightforward as purchasing.

 

After several hours of yelling, interrogating, and double and triple- checking through the documentation sent to him, Oswald had jolted up from the papers before him with sudden realization.

 

He’d been set up.

 

Oswald had immediately shut down all he was working on and grabbed his things in hope of bolting just in the nick of time. Irritated as he’d been at having so much of his time wasted chasing down an elaborate plot to make a small miscommunication look like an utter fiasco, the anxiety caused by the thought of having to endure painfully awkward birthday ‘celebrations’ with his coworkers far outweighed it.

 

He’d practically been able to taste the cupcakes, overly sugary and with a flat, chemical aftertaste, thick and nauseating on his tongue.  

 

“Ivy!’’

 

The squeak that had echoed from her desk as he stormed out of his office was all he’d needed to know she was indeed somewhat complicit, earning the young woman an unimpressed glare promising a reckoning to come, eventually.

 

“Boss, I-”

 

“Save it. I’m going home. Also, where’s Zsasz? He’s supposed to be in that conference room going over the Star City contracts.”

 

“He’s out on a site visit. They rescheduled for tomorrow.”

 

In hindsight, it really should have tipped him off. If not the fact that his team lead was absent as was most of the team he was meant to be leading, then certainly the attentive, business-like replies of his office assistant and the lack of her normal chittery small talk.  Frustrated as he’d been, though, Oswald recognized neither for the warning sign they were.

 

“Fine. Send him an email for me. I want a full write-up of where we’re at with the major accounts, and how that site visit goes, in my inbox by 6 tomorrow morning.”

 

“Will do, Boss,”

 

“I’m going home. And don’t call me again. Especially not for anything related to Tetch.”

 

“So, I could call you if it’s not something related to Jervis or—”

 

“Ivy.” Oswald had given her a strained expression. “Don’t call me.”

 

“You’re going home, hold your calls until tomorrow.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Satisfied that was that, he’d made his way to the elevator, completely missing the bright grin dotting across Ivy’s face as she’d waited for the elevator doors to close, before immediately scrambling up from her desk and to the back exit leading to the emergency stairs. Instead, he’d headed home satisfied with himself for escaping whatever they’d baited him to work for, smug right up until the moment he opened his front door.

 

Several things had happened very quickly and all at once, then.

 

A bright green VW Beetle had come screeching up the street to stop abruptly in front of his curb, all the lights in the front of his house had flicked on, and Victor Zsasz had narrowly avoided Oswald’s briefcase smacking the toothy grin off his face as a cluster of voices yelled a delighted, “ _Surprise!_ ”

 

“Surpri—Oh, drat! You guys were supposed to wait for me.’’

 

It’d been Ivy trotting up the drive to stand at his at his back that prevented Oswald from simply about-facing there and then, and before he’d caught up with the situation, he’d been shuffled inside his house unceremoniously for the very birthday celebration he’d just been congratulating himself on avoiding.

 

And now he’s here.

 

An hour into what’s been, oddly, a far more pleasant time than he’d ever expected, Oswald finds himself curled up in his favorite armchair and actually enjoying his own birthday party. Much to his relief, there aren’t nearly as many people present as it’d seemed when they’d all shouted at him immediately upon opening the door.

 

Really, it’s just the sales team he serves as manager for – Victor, Peggy, Tarquin, Bridgit, Selina, and Ivy-- and a few of the coworkers he’s closer to in other departments like Barbara, and the other Victor, who he’s fairly sure has only been invited due to his sheer gift for making perfectly balanced, perfectly chilled drinks with alarming speed and ease. Not that Oswald isn’t friendly with him. He’s just not the party type, or so Oswald had assumed previously. Though the man’s skill at mixing drinks has him beginning to reconsider that notion. It’s always the quiet ones. Most of them know each other already, leaving the air rich with the noise of voices chattering around him over the jazz record currently playing on his turntable, an unexpectedly soothing white noise to calm his frazzled nerves from earlier in the day.

 

Over sparkling cocktails, grapefruit-lavender gelato (because grape had been ruled out as unpalatable and there was no other choice for a purple ice cream to match their “theme”), and perhaps the most luxurious chocolate cake he’s ever tasted (elegantly decorated, from a local bakery instead of touched by one of the hands of one of his underlings, and _far_ better than any cupcake in existence), the full story comes out in the form of multiple voices talking over each other to brag on just how well their little plot was executed. Mainly because he’d at first hissed and looked ready to smack Barbara Keane upside her pretty blonde head when he’d seen her at the back of the group. Ivy had quickly intervened for the other woman’s sake.

 

‘’She didn’t snitch! Honest, she didn’t.”

 

“As if I would. Getting fired for disclosing Protected Personal Information isn’t worth even remotely what anyone here could pay me for it.’’

 

Well. That defense is true enough. But then how-

 

“You like…always take the same two days off. And just those two, unless you’re deathly ill with the flu like last year, or something else serious. It was just a process of elimination really, all we had to do was find the obitu—mmph!’’

 

He’s grateful for Selina’s intervention. His team’s intern is typically the most composed, mature one of the lot, and manages to shut Ivy up just in time to keep her from utterly spoiling the marginal good mood Oswald’s managed to accomplish.

 

“I also picked your pocket to look at your driver’s license.’’ Selina states dryly, and Oswald for a moment isn’t entirely sure he believes her. But believing her about that seems a marginally more comforting option than trying to figure out what actual method she could possibly be trying to cover up if that was a lie.

 

“Dent from Internal Audit said there’s no specific policy against it, so you can’t get me in trouble for it either.’’

 

“How about for breaking into my house? Or wasting five hours of my day today? You can certainly still be in trouble for that.’’  

 

“Technically we didn’t break in. I just used the spare key you told me about; remember when you had to go for that week-long conference and had me stop by to check on the house?’’

 

He does remember, and he also makes a mental note to move the location of his spare key somewhere Ivy won’t be able to find it, to avoid any repeat incidents like this.

 

“And you shouldn’t be mad at Jervis. He volunteered to help us. I think his department had some sort of betting pool going on for who’s dumb monologue could get your face to go the reddest. We just wanted to make sure we had enough time to get everything ready at your place. So it’d actually look like there’s a party here!”

 

Oswald’s definitely still going to be mad at Tetch. Time-wasting is a serious offense in his book, all the more so as egregiously as it’s been done today. But even he has to admit…their efforts to spruce up his kitchen and living room have paid off. This must have been the “site visit” Victor had dragged Peggy and Bridgit to, while Tarquin kept up the appearance of work happening and Ivy ran interference. Though it has his assistant’s touch stamped all over it, right down to the vases full of lilac and heliotrope on his coffee table and kitchen counter.

 

Honestly, he’s just glad for a lack of the typical obnoxiously primary-colored decorations usually associated with birthday festivities. Rather than balloons and streamers cluttering up his home, there’s a simple birthday banner and some fairy lights hung up around the ceiling, and various plastic ware and wrapped presents in a black and white color scheme to balance out the purple. Tasteful and minimalist…the whole party, really.  Just his closest coworkers, the nearest thing to real friends he’s got these days, comfortably cozied up in his living room instead huddling around a plastic table in the breakroom.

 

 It’s unexpectedly considerate, and enough to have his chest tight at the amount of care that’s been put into this by his team. He’s slightly concerned that nearly the entire sales department is all absent at once, but this many people all taking the same block of time off would have had to be approved by someone above him, so he dismisses the concern for the moment.

 

“It certainly does look like there’s a party here. Though you made the mess; you all are going to help clean it up before you leave.”

 

“It looks like a party, but it doesn’t feel like one! It is definitely time for games!” Oswald eyes Zsasz a little warily at the announcement.

 

They’ve already avoided minor arson by having someone other than Bridgit light the candles on his cake, and he’s had to endure a truly ear-splitting rendition of the happy birthday song while the lot of them grinned wider than anyone had right to while creating a caterwaul that obnoxious. His top sales associate might be scarily efficient at what he does, but he’s also as easily entertained as a toddler, and has about the discretion of one when it comes to determining where the line between good fun and absolute absurdity lies.

 

“Everyone remembers how to play Spin the Bottle righ-‘’

 

“No.”

 

“Well, what about Seven-“

 

“ _Absolutely_ not.”

 

“Vic, stop teasing the poor guy. Oswald’s not going to kiss any of us, or want to watch any of us kissing either.”

 

Oswald is extremely glad for Peggy’s interruption and Barbara’s follow-up reinforcing it.

 

“Never mind the multiple HR related issues it’d leave me filling out paperwork for. Besides. The plan was Trivia, remember? Tarquin’s almost got it all set up.”

 

The afternoon passes quickly after that. Oswald comes in second to Tarquin at the game, and allows himself to be coaxed into a second slice of cake, while turning down a third drink. By the time they’d all normally be leaving the office, most of them are pleasantly buzzed, except for Selina who’s a year short and thus driving several others home, Peggy, who doesn’t drink, and Oswald himself simply because he’d been enjoying not feeling the need to be.

 

A few small, neatly wrapped gifts are pressed into his hands, and despite how awkward he’s always felt opening presents in public, Oswald obliges the cheers around him to open bags and tear paper. It’s nothing major: penguin novelty socks from Victor and a new, purportedly un-killable house plant from Ivy, as well as a new leather padfolio that the rest of his team had chipped in for. But it’s far nicer than a bland card, the items simple yet personal, just like everything else that day, easing the ache behind his ribs and making it a little easier to breathe on a day he normally despises.

 

It's not long after that that people begin to head home for the evening. Oswald ends up standing from where he’d been comfortably chatting with Peggy about where they’d gotten the gelato from, dispensing a few brief handshakes to Tarquin and Victor Fries, and offering a rare hug each to the girls as they gather their things to head off.

 

When he turns, Ivy’s the last one in the room. Which… is strange, because he doesn’t remember saying goodbye to Zsasz. Perhaps he’d just missed the other man slipping out. Oswald arches an eyebrow at her expectant smile.

 

“Yes, Ivy. You did good.”

 

He exhales, eyeing the room, before padding over to hug her as well. Out of all of them, he’s closest to her, largely because they’d joined the firm around the same time, and worked the closest out of everyone due to her managing his schedule and email inbox.

 

“It’s just…you do so much for all of us, Oswald. But it doesn’t seem like there’s anybody who ever does anything for you. I know you don’t like a lot of fuss, but we just… we just wanted to make sure you know. You’re important to us, even if you are the boss that doesn’t mean you’re not part of the group. And nobody should have to spend their birthday alone.’’

 

“I-”

 

The lump of emotion in the back of his throat that’s been threatening to choke him on and off during the afternoon wells up again, as Oswald squeezes the younger woman’s shoulder affectionately.

 

“I know. Thank you.”

 

It’s taken him several years to open up at all. But between the work trips and holiday pot-lucks and hours upon hours spent together, his little team are slowly becoming genuine friends, if not more than that. Enough to build trust and affection he’d never thought he would experience again after losing his mother.

 

“Really. It means a lot. Although I hope you all know, there’ll be no repeat of this next year. I have no idea how you got Mooney to okay all of us being off almost all of today.”

 

“That’s for us to know, and you to wonder, Boss.” Ivy grins at him winningly, earning a small yet warm smile from Oswald in return that had her hugging him again tightly.

 

Only for the moment to abruptly shatter as his front door slams, and Victor Zsasz reappears.

 

“Victor? I thought you’d gone. Did you forget something?” Oswald is about to turn and scan the room for a forgotten phone or keys, only to freeze at the sight of the smile on the man’s face.

 

He knows that smile.

 

Flashbacks of the Printer Toner Incident from last February appear before his eyes, as all of Oswald’s goodwill and calm suddenly evaporate. Looking over his shoulder to see Ivy wearing an identical smug grin only furthers the abrupt bolt of panic. He’d known this all was a little too perfect to be true. But what now?

 

“No. Whatever it is, _no_. It’s getting late, the party’s over, and both of you are _leaving._ Now.’’

 

 ‘’Wait, wait! Hang on, _Oswald_ , please, hear us out.”

 

“Besides, we were going to help clean up first before we go, remember?”

 

“I don’t think so. Out, both of you, before you light fireworks in my kitchen or whatever else you’re grinning about.”

 

“It’s not like that, Boss, really.” Victor wheedles. “We just have one last present for you. It’s a good thing, promise!”

 

Before he can protest further, Oswald finds himself sandwiched between the two of them and shuffled into the back of his house where the party hadn’t reached, towards his… his bedroom? What could they possibly have waiting in there?

 

“Look, for the record I’m allergic to cats and dogs so if you two roped an innocent animal into this you’re about to be making a very disappointing trip to the pet store.” Never mind that he’s at work too much to take proper care of a pet.

 

“It’s not a cat or a dog. C’mon, live a little!”

 

If it’s not a cat or a dog, it’s nothing good. Victor’s chirpy encouragement only serves to have Oswald’s stomach twisting up in knots, even as he follows them back and opens his bedroom door as Ivy spouts off an overly joyful little “Ta-da~!”

 

“Why the hell is there a man in my bedroom?’’

 

His voice goes from horrified calm to an unbecoming squawk in just a few words. If this is a prank, Oswald isn’t sure how it’s possibly supposed to be funny.

 

And if it _is_ what it looks like, Oswald might actually have to fire both of them, as well as anyone else who was in on this.

 

Surely, they wouldn’t, though. Right? A few years back, jokes had certainly made about his needing to lighten up, but he’d really thought they were over all that. They _know_ now, and while he decidedly regrets that particular team-bonding karaoke night, it’d at least led to a drunken discussion of the topic enough for people to stop teasing him about sex, or his lack of any observable love life. He doesn’t date, because he doesn’t want what most people want, and at least Victor and Ivy both _know_ that!

 

But the man is in his _bedroom_! Sitting on his bed _,_ no less!

 

And on top of that, it only takes a pass of his eyes to note that the stranger is, by all conventional standards, extraordinarily handsome man. Though if he’s a stripper… or god forbid, worse than that, he’s certainly not dressed for it. Unless appealingly fluffy green cardigans and neatly pressed slacks are what all the rent-boys are wearing these days. How did they even get him in here without him noticing? He’d only had two cocktails, not nearly so much as not to notice a stranger being waltzed through his living room, and the only other door in was adjacent to the kitchen, where he’d have certainly noticed a stranger entering his house.

 

“He’s your birthday present!’’

 

Oswald chokes a little, not sure whether to gawk at Ivy, or at the young man blushing and fidgeting as he stands from where he’s been casually sitting _on Oswald’s bed_.

 

"Ivy, whatever you’re trying to do with this, I don’t-"

 

"We know, Boss. It’s okay. Take a breath.”

 

Victor’s attempt at reassurance is little comfort, especially not as he continues.

 

“But, like, seriously though?  I have never met anyone more in need of getting laid. It’s like you run on caffeine and stress and nothing more. That can’t be healthy! Anyway, since you’re not into that sort of thing, a hooker wouldn’t work. So, we got you him."

 

He’s going to do it. He’s finally going to outright slap the shit-eating grin off Victor Zsasz’s face, workplace appropriate behavior video lectures be damned! Only to be interrupted by Ivy, beaming at him, and chiming in,

 

 “He’s like a cuddle-hooker."  
  


 

“ _Excuse_ me?”  
  


 

“Professional Cuddler, actually.”  
  


 

The man’s ears flush a rather alarming shade of crimson as he pipes up, looking a little sheepish. “Or Cuddlist. Or Cuddle Buddy. Take your pick. Just…not that.”

 

“Right, a Cuddle Buddy. All of the warm fuzzies, none of the sex.”

 

It’s truly impressive, if not incredibly confusing, how two people so incredibly thoughtful and so irritatingly idiotic all at once.

 

But before Oswald can open his mouth to deliver what promises to be his most scathing lecture of the day on _just_ how incredibly inappropriate and ridiculous this entire thing is, strong hands give him a sudden shove. It’s only through a truly impressive set of flailing that he manages to keep from crashing headfirst into the stranger’s incredibly soft looking sweater, and the broad chest underneath it. Only now does the sixth-sense for danger he’s developed working in the same department as Victor Zsasz kick in and start screaming at him, and by the time he’s on his feet and turned around, it’s just in time to watch the door to his bedroom slam in his face as the lock clicks alarmingly.

 

“We’ll come back when his time’s up and let you guys out, okay?”

 

“Absolutely not, let me out this minute, Ivy! Victor! Cut it out, this is far enough, open this door right now!”

 

Jiggling the handle does nothing, and neither does yelling for it to be opened. Oswald’s insides knot up all over again as he listens to the sound of something heavy being hauled in front of the door.

 

“Have fun, Boss! Happy Birthday!!”

 

And with that his two giggling excuses for minions trot down the hallway, taking all hope of this being over quickly with them. Leaving Oswald to turn and plaster himself back against the door, eyeing the man before him warily even as the other clears his throat and gives an awkward little wave.

 

 “Um, Hi. I’m Ed.’’

**Author's Note:**

> So I meant to have this fic finished weeks ago but RL made that an impossibility, and my brain deciding to turn three lines of an outline into a 4k+ lead in to the actual story I wanted to write helped absolutely nothing. :P Hopefully y'all can forgive me for the tease since this technically hits both the 'Cuddling' and 'Trapped Together' prompts (sort of).
> 
> I can promise plenty of actual cuddling is definitely to come !!!! As is the actual Nygmobblepot content, but I wanted to at least post this first chapter on the right day to make sure this WIP gets finished and not abandoned. CH 2 (feat. actual Ed!) is about half ready but I just couldn't finish it in time for this week. Next post should be up somewhere around April 10th, so stay tuned!
> 
> Thank you to all of you for your contributions to Nygmobblepot Week. This is one of my favorite traditions in our fandom even if I never get to write as much for it as I want. Much love to all y'all, and thanks for your support!
> 
> (Lastly, since this is unbeta'd and was posted in a bit of a rush, if there are any glaring grammar or spelling errors please drop me a comment so I can go in and fix them. Or just, y'know, drop one to tell me if you hated it or liked it! Thanks!)


End file.
